Yellow Polka-dot Burqini

Bogan parents of the world unite.

Yes, I have found the solution to international tensions and racial conflict between cultures.

It is... The hotel swimming pool and bar.

Being in Thailand this week has enabled BtT to slip into a coma, and me to observe a range of international forms of boganism. After two luxurious nights at the Intercontinental in Singapore with complimentary everything, it was time for us to detox and have a wee little lie down. At one of those family holiday resorts that tight arsed middle class holidays makers go to.

You know. The places in developing countries that exploit workers and cheap resource suppliers happy to be underpaid in order to provide a fascimile of luxury. Where Bogans like moi can collect bathroom vanity products to take home and call them 'gifts'. Places where the quality and size of the hotel pool dictates the level of poshness of the holiday. "Mayyyyyyte, shoulda seen the bloody pool! massive! Swim up bar, little helpful pool boys brought us a towel, those back massaging jets, beee-yoooo-ti-foool!"

And it would seem the same for people from non-Oz places.

Different swimsuits styles, different accents, but still the same middle class values. Where the word 'bliss' is defined in two words, 'kid's club' and happy hour means the same thing in any language...half price booze and nibbles. The yanks, bless 'em, have that permeating tone to their voice that radiates across the serenity of pool-side, "AUDREY! auuuuuuuuud-dreeeeeeeee! get out of the pool now. Ya burnt as a French fry in Louisiana girlfriend!" And out Audrey schlumps. Pink, like the rest of us. Half her togs gaping open at the back and her hair dripping all over her iPhone.

There's the Indian family who travels in a large sparkly Bollywood lion pride, with their kids dressed in glow-in-the-dark life vests for evening safety. The Middle East families in swim-burqinis (yes really, that's what they're called) fashionable covered head to toe in all manner of polka dots, patterns and colours (not so itsy-bitsy actually). Quite a use of Lycra compared to the Japanese bikinis, which are so small, yet still cover tiny little Japanese frames. The male Chinese swimshorts, tight around the nether regions and high waisted are worth the price of a Singha beer to watch. The pink Poms and their kids covered in floaties ("Oooi now, dont go too bloody far...oh OK, whatever, I don't care, I'm going to the bar..."). The Malaysian family whose little girl just was dying to go back to kid's club because her parents "just want to sleep". And the Aussies, bless us, whose children all have their hair plaited into little braids with beads on the end (compulsory Asian holiday treat) and wear nasty Tar-jay swimmers all day long. Parents at the bar, grandparents asleep with a book (or pretending to be in case the kids want attention again) and people like BtT and I, just lying there in the pool floating, wondering whether the Third world is a good place or a bad place to holiday (Safety? Huh??? We'll be fine mum!)

Ah well, regardless of culture, you'll all find us at the Mai Khao Marriott Beach Club pool bar this arve at five comparing whether the Banana Colada is better than the Southern Shakeshake.

In any language, it beats workin'!

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Yellow polka dot bikini, Brian Hyand, 1960